Jackal's Dance (36 page)

He pulled a face. ‘Hard to tell. Calm enough on the surface. She's got a lot to contend with. The next few days will be rough. She'll need our help.'

‘Is Thea really going to leave Billy?'

He nodded. ‘That's one thing there's no doubt about. She's going back to the UK.'

Caitlin hesitated, then asked, ‘How come you're involved in all this?'

An uncomfortable look crossed his face. ‘I just happened to be there when it blew up.'

‘Is she really pregnant? Is that what all the fuss is about?'

‘Partly.' Sean busied himself entering the beer onto his page of the staff ‘honesty book'.

Caitlin waited but he wasn't going to say more. ‘Would she like some company, do you think?'

Sean took a long pull on the bottle of Hansa before answering. ‘She's going to try and sleep. Leave it till the morning.'

‘Sean?'

Her tone made him wary.

‘This has got something to do with you, hasn't it?'

‘A bit,' he admitted. ‘Thea told me she was pregnant before saying anything to Billy. She was worried about how he'd take the news.'

Caitlin nodded, accepting his explanation. ‘With good reason, as it's turned out. What a bastard. Do you think he'll resign?'

‘Christ, I bloody well hope so.'

‘Me too.' She jerked a thumb over her shoulder towards the dining room. ‘I've had that lot in chunks. Can you hold the fort without me?'

Sean smiled, relieved to have the conversation turn from himself and Thea. ‘Sure.'

On the way to her room Caitlin wondered what had happened to Fletch. The interest had certainly been there, she'd seen it in the way he looked at her.
His loss
, she thought, disgruntled, wondering what his reaction would be if she mentioned it. ‘Grow up, McGregor,' Caitlin said out loud, going into her room. ‘It's a rejection, not the end of this world.' But the low murmur of Chester and Kalila's voices from inside the African's darkened room didn't do a lot to make her feel better.

As Sean made his way back to the dining room he was relieved to hear Johan Riekert saying, ‘All this fresh air has made me tired. Come, Mother. Time for bed.' Mal Black also rose from the table and said goodnight. Gayle had ordered another bottle of wine, so she was in for the long haul. That meant Matt would be staying too. Felicity and Philip looked set to chat, regardless of company, and the Schmidt family showed no sign of turning in. He couldn't dump Dan with the lot of them and decided to rejoin the table.

It was past midnight before the party broke up. The Schmidts had been first to leave, then Felicity, Philip and Dan wandered down to the floodlit waterhole. Gayle logged on to entertainer mode for a while but the fresh air finally got to her as well. At twelve-twenty, she and Matt left for their
bungalow. Sean said a quick goodnight at the waterhole and headed for his room, via the workshop to turn off the generator. Going past Chester's, he got the impression that the ranger and student were well into round two. No lights shone in the manager's cottage.

Dan had the feeling that he was a spare part. If the spark between Felicity and Philip was going to ignite, it certainly wouldn't while he was around. ‘I'm doing the morning game drive. Should get some shut-eye,' he whispered. ‘You two happy to sit here on your own?'

‘Yes, perfectly thanks.' Felicity was still nursing the last of her cognac.

Dan left them to it.

The rule for the waterhole was absolute silence. Which was just as well. Suddenly alone, neither Felicity or Philip could think of a damned thing to say. Felicity sipped her warming liqueur with excruciating slowness, unwilling to end the evening. Philip watched the waterhole as though his life depended on it.

A lone bull elephant materialised, huge and ghostly grey in the spotlights. It drank, sniffed at the night air, and ambled away. One black rhinoceros also put in a brief appearance. The presence of these animals at least justified why two consenting adults were sitting in the African bush in the middle of the night, nervously racking their brains for something to say to cover up for the fact that each lacked the guts to make a first move towards the only thing that was actually in their heads.

Philip's proximity was more than a little disturbing.
How do I let him know? What if he isn't interested? Is he just sitting here out of politeness?

Felicity had only known one man during the past twenty years. Despite The Turd's wandering habits, she had remained faithful. That was accepted. But now, with her marriage over, she would probably meet other men. Right now, the thought of being with a stranger was scary. Sharing her body with someone else was a very intimate act. This one might turn out to be Jack the Ripper. She might fall in love and he'd bugger off back to Australia.
I don't want to be dependent on anyone. You're a wimp, Honeywell. He's an attractive man. It's only sex. You've got to try it with someone else sooner or later.

The question revolving round and round inside her head was loud and clear.
Do I or don't I?
If she were to indicate interest, would the man sitting next to her . . .
Oh, come on Honeywell, don't even think it
. . . But she did . . .
rise to the occasion?

Felicity and The Turd had ceased making love several years before he walked out. He'd been gone nearly five months. A long time to remain celibate. Too long. A night with this man might be deliciously satisfying. Or it could turn out to be a disaster. She knew practically nothing about him. Would he have any protection with him?
Oh, for God's sake! Get your mind above your navel.

With an effort, and rather reluctantly, Felicity decided that now wasn't the time. Maybe tomorrow night. Maybe never. Who would know? Not
her, that much was obvious. The decision made, Felicity realised with some surprise that she was feeling positively cranky.

Not surprisingly, Philip Meyer's mental meanderings reflected exactly the same doubts. Was Felicity expecting him to make a move? If so, would she welcome it? He was horribly out of practice at pick-up lines. Come to that, he'd never been particularly good at them.
What do I do? Turn and say, ‘How about it? My place or yours?' No. She's sophisticated. Probably expect something more elegant. You are very beautiful and I want to . . . ‘What?' Forget it, Meyer, you've lost the art.

A knot of tension sat in his stomach. He had to say something, couldn't keep sitting here like a dressmaker's dummy. The knot tightened. Oh God! He needed to fart.
Charming! That will certainly get her attention.
The urge subsided. Philip racked his brain for something to break the silence. Anything would do.

Felicity rose. ‘I'll say goodnight. See you in the morning.'

‘Sleep tight.' Anything but that. But it was too late. Philip watched her walk into the darkness. Was she disappointed? Relieved? Or had sex been the furthest thing from her mind? Probably the latter. Philip stood, stretched, and made for his own bungalow.

As she walked away Felicity found herself thanking God that she hadn't said or done anything foolish. Philip Meyer was obviously not interested.

Ace Ntesa and the men with him watched as the last guests retired to bed. They'd reached Logans Island just after ten. A thorough reconnoitre pinpointed where everyone was or were likely to be when the time to act came. Ace was well satisfied. He had enough men for the job and felt confident that all would go according to plan. Scouts were posted at strategic points with orders to report back once they were certain that everyone was asleep. Ace and the rest took cover close to the pan's edge, keeping well away from any illumination around the waterhole. Tension grew when an elephant appeared. Their last encounter with the species had been more than enough. But they were downwind, the unconcerned animal did not pick up their scent and wandered off towards the distant mopane scrub.

At eleven-thirty one of his men reported that the group of five singing around their fire at the camp site had retired. By midnight, the African staff quarters showed no sign of activity. Just before one, the pair at the waterhole left separately.

Two lights remained on – one ranger, one guest. A scout confirmed that the park employee was still awake but bungalow six contained a single sleeping woman. Sounds of love-making came from three sources – a ranger's room and two guest bungalows. That was okay. Ace didn't intend to make his move until three.

At two-fifteen, Mal slipped silently from James' bungalow, back to his own. The light in number six remained on but the ranger's room fell dark at
two-thirty. Around about the same time, all sound ceased in number seven. Only the black ranger and his friend were still at it.

Ace decided that three men could cope with the camp site. He'd expected it to be empty and had been surprised to learn it wasn't. There were altogether six, possibly seven, down there. One old and two young men. Three girls, one of whom was a cripple. His men could handle that easily. There was an extra tent but the occupant had not been seen.

The lodge's African staff quarters probably housed around twenty. Ace knew from experience that the reputation of UNITA was such that it usually rendered captives frozen with fear. Just to be sure, however, he selected five of his men to cope with any contingency.

Ace joined the remaining three. They'd take care of the rangers. He'd kept his best men for that. The targets looked pretty fit. Once they had been rounded up and secured, the guests would not be a problem. At two fifty-five he gave the order to move.

Eben, as usual, hadn't zipped up his tent. When a hand clamped over his mouth he thought he was having an asthma attack, struggled for breath and tried to reach under his pillow. Some kind of adhesive tape replaced the vice-like hand. It happened so fast that the professor was barely awake. He lashed out, connecting with a strong, solid bulk. Eben heard a grunt then felt a jarring pain as he
was hauled roughly to his feet. Whoever the intruder might be, he hadn't seen soap and water for a while. The smell of unwashed body as Eben's hands were grabbed and forced behind him was appalling. He was frogmarched from his tent to the ablution block where another faceless figure waited in the darkness. Eben felt both wrists being quickly and efficiently taped together.

Forcing his brain to work, the professor tried to make sense of what was happening. A good old-fashioned get-rich-quick robbery seemed likely, but for one thing. The second man smelled, if at all possible, worse than the first. These two had been in the bush a while. Banditry couldn't be ruled out but the silent efficiency of these intruders smacked more of a well-planned military operation. Who? The answer came to him almost immediately. UNITA. For some time Angola-based bands had been active along the Caprivi Strip. Could it be that they had extended their horizons?

One of the men muttered something and left Eben with the other. He began to panic about the tape over his mouth. It was wide, strong, and ran from jaw to jaw. What if an asthma attack came on? He'd never be able to breathe. Eben became aware that the fly of his pyjama trousers gaped open but was powerless to do anything about it.

Fletch, a light sleeper, heard the zip of his tent's mosquito netting. He registered only that there must be a problem and someone was coming to tell him about it. His mind managed the pleasant thought that Caitlin had come calling. No. The
ranger couldn't possibly smell that bad. Fletch propped himself on one elbow and was about to say something when he was yanked so hard by the feet that his upper body actually left the ground. He had no time to shout. Tape stretched taut over his mouth as he was hauled to his feet and propelled towards the ablution block. Fletch's hands were secured behind his back before two vague shapes melted into the darkness. One remained – his nose told him that. He could hear someone humming, straining to speak. Fletch wasn't sure but he thought it sounded a bit like the professor.

Troy didn't stand a chance. As with his sex, sporting and academic lives, Troy's sleeping ability bordered on an art form. He could fall asleep in a bath full of cold water if the need ever arose. Once in the land of the sandman, that's where he stayed. The only sure-fire way he could be woken part way through the night was by a wandering female hand. He didn't hear the zip, didn't feel the grip around his ankles, didn't even register that he was exiting the tent, feet first, at a rudely rapid rate. His mouth taped, Troy had been hauled upright before the curtain of sleep even started rising. It wasn't until he joined Fletch and Eben that the fact that he was stark naked filtered through.

Megan, like Fletch, heard the intruder. She too presumed there was trouble of some kind. ‘What is it?' As if in answer, she was pulled outside, sleeping bag and all. There was time for one small shriek before a hand closed off her mouth. The attacker was straddling her body, knees firmly pinning both
arms in the sleeping bag. Megan heard tape being unrolled and a second shadow appeared. With incredible speed, the hand was removed and her mouth sealed shut. Unceremoniously tipped out of the sleeping bag and pulled to her feet, Megan's lurching stumble caught whoever it was by surprise and she was roughly yanked upright, forced to stand on her good leg. Pushed forward, she again stumbled. A strong arm lifted her off the ground and she was carried to the others.

Megan's tiny scream had woken Josie but she was unable to identify its source. Listening for a minute and not hearing it again, she assumed some animal had made the noise. Deciding that it would be a good time to go to the toilet, she located her torch, found a tampon and unzipped the tent. Josie played the torchbeam on the ground in front of her to avoid stepping on sharp stones. Halfway to the toilets, she was grabbed from behind, a hand held firmly over her mouth.

Angela lay half in and half out of the sleeping bag, one leg on top, one inside. Instantly awake at the feel of a hand on her exposed ankle, the ever-present demons that chased through her dreams had suddenly come alive. She kicked and thrashed in silent desperation. Dragged outside, her teeth found flesh, both arms flailing wildly. Her struggles were to no avail. Taped into submission, her only thought was that
that thing
was going to happen again. Even when she saw the others and realised she had not been singled out, the numbing terror of her predicament was so great that Angela wet herself.